


Axe To Grind

by Cornerofmadness



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: FBI days, Gen, Undercover Missions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:21:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27427114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cornerofmadness/pseuds/Cornerofmadness
Summary: Malcolm has a secret skill that makes him perfect for this particular FBI undercover mission and he couldn’t be happier.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 37
Collections: Bite Sized Bits of Fic from 2020





	Axe To Grind

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Brumeier](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brumeier/gifts).



> **Disclaimer:** Not mine, Chris Fedak and Sam Sklaver owns it
> 
> **Notes:** Written for Brumeier in comment fic for the prompt of any, any, I hate everything about you and for trope_bingo for UNDERCOVER MISSIONS and for allbingo for the prompt perception of color

XXX  
Malcolm couldn’t help smiling. He rarely got to do undercover work, being a profiler but when the signs pointed to the Renaissance Faire as being the most likely place where several tweens had been taken from and trafficked elsewhere, he had been assigned to the job along with others from his team. Who knew his axe throwing would come in handy for an FBI undercover mission? Malcolm didn’t even mind dressing up. The sticky Virginia heat he minded more. Coupling that with the fact he’d been outfitted in a blue cotton Norman tunic with long sleeves belted over loose fitting trousers and leather boots up to his knees, Malcolm felt a tad parboiled and wanted a little air conditioning. He had time before he had to go on stage again so he did what he was meant to be doing, staking out the faire.

Colette Swanson, on the other hand, hated every minute of their assignment, and Malcolm didn’t need his degrees in psychology to know how miserable she was. She’d been assigned as someone more mobile than he was. She carried a five foot high rack of pretzels through the faire, in theory doing a little patter to sell them. He’d crossed her path at least six times today, and he’d not heard a peep out of her. All he’d seen was her glaring at everyone. Those were going to be some stale – and frankly dusty from all the dirt rising from the parched dirt trails through the faire – pretzels.

Malcolm would rather check in with Rebecca Dennard on the far side of the faire. She’d been assigned to work a corset shop. At least she seemed to be having fun, and unlike Colette, she didn’t hate him for existing. Malcolm was never really sure what set Colette off. Was it that he was The Surgeon’s son? Was it professional jealousy – though she was always quick to point out he was untrustworthy and not good at his job when in truth he was at least damned good at what he did? Was it merely that he was a rich White man, though he thought it was more likely his gender than his ethnicity that was at issue for her?

As much as he might want to entirely avoid Colette, he’d better check in with her. At least she fared better than Rebecca costume wise. She was dressed in a plain chemise-like dress. Rebecca had on a more royal gown, with corset naturally, and as the temperature edged toward ninety, Malcolm wished he could have gone medieval without underpants. He was melting. 

“Can I see those pretzels,” he called, dodging around a couple of young men with elf ears holding hands.

She turned around and froze him with a hateful stare. If he wasn’t cut out for undercover work, she was even less so. He wasn’t entire sure why she didn’t like men in general and him in particular. He had guesses but he wasn’t about to float them past her. He had done foolish things like that in the past but Malcolm liked to think he had learned.

“Here you go, m’lord,” she grated out. “Salted or non?”

“I think I’ll pass,” he replied. “Been quiet?” He wanted to ask had she seen anything but in theory she would have called him and Rebecca if she had.

“This is miserable. How do people do this for fun?” She wiped a hand across her sweating brow.

“I’m having fun,” he protested. He really was. He liked his part of this faire and all of the art, jewelry and crafts for sale were really cool. He’d seen at least one or two things he’d love to buy Jackie. By the end of this assignment, he probably would buy everything he thought Jackie would like. She’d been a little under the weather lately and could use the cheering up. He doubted his mother would like most of it but he had seen a pretty pair of tourmaline earrings that would do as a Christmas stocking stuffer.

“You would be.” Colette glared. “Aren’t you going on stage now?”

He shook his head. “Not for another hour. I’m just walking the rounds. I haven’t seen anything suspicious unfortunately.”

“Really? How can you tell? I’ve seen people walking around here in full chainmail armor. How is that not suspicious?” Colette gestured with her free hand. “I swear we’re surrounded by insanity.”

“I guess it’s all in what you find fun. I like the imagination let loose here.” He did. Malcolm could almost see himself coming back just for fun. He wanted nothing more than to have a place to fit in. He wasn’t quite sure this was it but it could be a place to start. How often did he just let his id take over? _You’re afraid of your own mind,_ he reminded himself unnecessarily. 

“You’re supposed to be on the job, not playing around, Bright.”

“I’m not but I am trying to fit in.” He scowled. “It’s not going to do us much good if I stick out like a beacon light. Do you want to check in with Rebecca or should I?”

“You’re the one who’s enjoying slogging all over this place, sweating like a pig. I have pretzels to sell.” Colette shook her pretzel tree and started off, mixing back into the throng of people on the path. She called over her shoulder, “You go see how Rebecca’s fairing in the corset shoppe.”

“Fine.” Malcolm thought maybe they should have put Colette in charge of the pickle barrel. It was sour enough to match her mood. In reality a good place for her would be the booze selling booths. He thought for sure their unsub would like a beer or two to work up his courage but there were too many of them around the faire. They hadn’t wanted to lock two of the agents to one locale. Rebecca had been put in the corset shoppe because three of the known kidnapping victims had been looking forward to getting a corset according to friends and family.

Malcolm took a shortcut across the faire, walking past two different minstrel set ups, a tent packed with people waiting for henna tattoos and one tarot card reader. A small child with a wooden sword menaced him until his mother reeled him back in. When Malcolm got to the corset shoppe, Rebecca was busy fitting someone. Malcolm scoped out the place, lots of young and not so young women. Certainly, it would be a kidnapper’s smorgasbord in there. One young lady gave him a death stare as if he didn’t belong and well he probably didn’t.

Malcolm crossed the way to the jewelry shop where he could watch the corset shoppe. It was as busy as the corset shoppe but he stood out less here. There was a mix of male and female shoppers and at least one troll. Standing next to a Viking, he perused the offerings with half his attention until he came across a pair of garnet tear drop earrings.

“Ah, you like what you see?” The pretty redhead behind the counter asked, her corseted bodice barely containing her chest which had a spray of henna flowers tattooed across it. 

“They are nice,” he replied.

“Color change garnets.” She took them from their shaded spot where they looked deeply red and held them out into the light where they turned almost to bronze. It amazed Malcolm how a little change in light could so profoundly change his perception of color.

Malcolm thought Jackie would absolutely love them. “Very pretty.”

“Garnets protect you in the night.”

Maybe he should give them to his mother. It might not be his most professional move but technically he was supposed to mingle and look like he belonged so why not? They were so pretty he was sure they wouldn’t be there later if he waited until he was off duty. “I’ll take them.” 

“You’re with Sebastian the swordsman and weapons show, aren’t you?” she asked as he took out his credit card from the leather pouch on his belt, a handy little thing, not something he’d wear daily but for a moment he understood why his mother was so married to her purse.

“Yeah, I throw axes.” Malcolm grinned, still pleased as hell that he was actually getting to do that for fun.

“I’ll have to catch your show.”

“I’d like that.” 

While she rang up the charges, which took forever for her device to connect with the hit or miss satellite reception out in the sticks, Malcolm scanned the crowds. He didn’t see anyone paying any undue attention to any of the young faire goers. Most people were self-absorbed really, tucked into their little groups, doing their shopping, running to the jousting or the mud show or whatever caught their fancy.

Finally, with garnets tucked into his pouch, Malcolm cut back over to the corset shoppe and waved to Rebecca.

“How goes it?” she asked, fanning herself with a blue and black lace fan that matched her blue gown.

“I was about to ask you the same. So far nothing on mine or Colette’s ends.”

“Same. I’m so busy I can barely turn around. The task force might want to put a few more men on strictly as observers into the mix,” Rebecca said.

“I had the same thought, especially around the food and alcohol stands. I think it should be in our report tonight though…maybe you should be the one to suggest it,” he said, ducking his head.

“Colette still busting your balls?” Rebecca pushed back a strand of dark hair lank with sweat.

“I wouldn’t have put it that way but yes. You know how she is.”

“Ambitious and she doesn’t like you being in her way even though technically you’re not.” Rebecca adjusted her corset, and he tried not to notice how that made her chest jiggle.

He liked Rebecca, not that he’d date on the job or put her in that position. He knew how the bulk of the agents he worked with viewed their ‘pet serial killer’ as he heard one or two of them refer to him. He discouraged Rebecca from being too openly friendly with him but at least her he could trust. He knew he couldn’t do the same with Colette. He also knew Rebecca was right; he wasn’t in Colette’s way. He was never going to climb particularly high in the FBI, no matter how good he was. His father was a millstone around his neck. “I suppose. So, nothing even slightly promising?”

“Not yet.”

“Colette reported the same. I’ve seen nothing. I have time for one more sweep before I have to get back to the show.”

“I have some time off coming. I’ll stop in to see it and will keep an eye on your audience.”

“Great.”

“And I have to see you throw an axe.” Rebecca turned and pointed to a rack of corsets after someone butted in and demanded help. Rebecca turned back to face him. “You do know there’s money on how bad you are at this.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Really? Who is doing that and how do they plan to prove it one way or the other?”

“Adam is,” Rebecca named their task force supervisor. “And I think he’s here today to judge your skills.”

Malcolm made a face. “What are the betting options?”

“You can bet on laughably bad, cuts off own foot, hits target by accident and has the accuracy of a serial killer.”

“That isn’t funny.”

“No but only I have money on that last one.”

Malcolm wagged his head and then dug out of a twenty. “Put that on my serial killer side please.”

Rebecca laughed, plucking the bill from his hand. “Will do.”

Malcolm moped his way around the faire after that. It hurt his feelings that they either thought he was a serial killer or a complete incompetent. He put up some money to try and be in on the joke, to let them know he wasn’t hurt in spite of their best efforts. But he was hurt. He tried to ignore it as he worked his way past monks, warriors and mages on his way back to the stage. A girl with wings nearly ran him down by accident. Nothing at all stood out to him as he made his way back to the sword and weapon show. 

He downed a bottle of water while listening to ‘Sebastian the swordsman’ doing his spiel. The act was part comedy and part actual weaponry. Malcolm only had the weaponry end of the show. He had been shoehorned into the act, and he hoped that the higher ups at the faire who had been trusted with the knowledge of the FBI sting didn’t blab about it. These faire goers were rather chummy.

Malcolm double checked his costume before stepping out on the stage. He spotted both Colette and Rebecca easily. The latter was in the back seated where she could watch everyone. Colette stood off to the side under the shade, leaning on her pretzel rack. Finally, he saw Adam off to the opposite side. He put them out of his mind as he stepped out hearing Sebastian introduce him.

“Axe men are all brute strength and no flash,” Sebastian crowed, cutting a pretty pattern in the air with his sword. “But Malcolm thinks he can change our mind. Anyone think he can be all flashy and hit that target?” He pointed to the targets set up well away from any audience members and behind the set was an earthen embankment to stop any errant axes. “Let’s hear you cheer him on.”

The audience cheered but Sebastian shook his head. “That wouldn’t encourage a mouse. Let’s hear you roar his name!”

Malcolm admitted to himself, it was a bit of an ego boost with each of these shows hearing his name being shouted out. He held up his axes, one in either hand and paraded around the stage, grinning.

Sebastian led a count down and Malcolm sized up the targets, not about to lose the bet. Cut off his own foot, would he? Laughably bad? He was so tired of being the butt of the FBI’s jokes and animosity. The first axe flew from his hand to the target, dead on bull’s eyes. Malcolm turned back to the audience brandishing the second axe as they went wild for the first hit. The second axe hit the next target with the same unerring accuracy. 

Arms high, Malcolm brought them down with a flourish and bowed to his audience. He left the stage to their applause and let Sebastian finish up his patter. Malcolm picked up something that looked like it should be on a Musketeer’s head for a literal passing of the hat for tips.

Rebecca and Colette worked through the crowd one way as Malcolm went the other, hat in hand. Rebecca grinned. “I can’t believe you did that good! It was amazing.”

“That’s not what I would have called it,” Colette said.

“Yeah but you don’t like him or anything he does,” Rebecca scoffed.

“That’s not…” Malcolm started to protest because he didn’t want to touch Colette off.

“True? Of course, it is.” Colette looked down her nose at him. “I hate everything about you.”

He wanted to say, ‘I don’t know why,’ but he knew that would only stoke the flames. He was supposed to know what was so objectionable him. Seeing something behind them, Malcolm turned his attention toward a middle-aged man talking to two girls about the age eleven or twelve. They didn’t look particularly comfortable. Everything about the man screamed I do not mean well. It didn’t take Malcolm’s years of psychology training to see that. Malcolm nodded to the ladies and they turned.

Malcolm melted back a step, passing the hat to Sebastian before starting toward the man with the girls. Adam hadn’t seen them moving toward the potential suspect but the man had noticed them. He started backing away from the girls who shot him a puzzled look. Malcolm grimaced. He didn’t want to get in a foot race with this guy in a crowded faire.

Sure enough, the man broke right and started running. Malcolm and his partners went after him. Colette swung the long pretzel conveyance like a pole axe and swiped the man’s legs out from under him, pretzels flying everywhere. Malcolm grabbed hold of him, pinning him to the ground.

“Get off me!” the man screamed.

“You’re under arrest,” Malcolm replied.

“For what.”

“A list of charges will be read to you,” Rebecca said, bringing in the cuffs. 

They got the man restrained, and walked him back to a waiting vehicle. Adam and Colette went with their suspect. Malcolm felt for his belt pouch. The earrings were still there.

“Good work,” Rebecca said

“You too.”

She smirked. “We won the pot you know.”

Malcolm waved her off. “Just give me back my twenty and you can keep the pot.”

“I have to know, how? How the hell are you so good with a stupid axe?” Rebecca patted his back.

“I’m a silver medal axe thrower, twice now.” He held up two fingers. 

Rebecca laughed loudly. “That is…you are nothing but surprises, Bright.”

“I guess I am.” 

Malcolm took a last look around the faire. He was very glad they got a monster preying on kids off the street but he had to admit it. He was going to miss this assignment, even if he was sweating to death. When would he get to throw axes on the job again? Ah well it had been fun while it lasted.


End file.
